…coast of Dorne. Sand and rocks and scorpions, and no good anchorage for hundreds of leagues. You can swim there if you like, and walk to Oldtown. You will need to cross the deep desert and climb some mountains and swim the Torentine. Or else you could go to Gilly.”
“You do not understand. Last night we…”
“… honored your dead, and the gods who made you both. Xhondo did the same. I had the child, else I would have been with him. All you Westerosi make a shame of loving.
There is no shame in loving.
If your septons say there is, your seven gods must be demons. In the isles we know better. Our gods gave us legs to run with, noses to smell with, hands to touch and feel. What mad cruel god would give a man eyes and tell him he must forever keep them shut, and never look at all the beauty in the world? Only a monster god, a demon of the darkness.”
Kojja put her hand between Sam’s legs.
“The gods gave you this for a reason too, for… what is your Westerosi word?”
“Fucking,” Xhondo offered helpfully.
“Yes, for fucking. For the giving of pleasure and the making of children. There is no shame in that.”
Sam backed away from her. “I took a vow. I will take no wife, and father no children. I said the words.”
“She knows the words you said. She is a child in some ways, but she is not blind. She knows why you wear the black, why you go to Oldtown. She knows she cannot keep you. She wants you for a little while, is all. She lost her father and her husband, her mother and her sisters, her home, her world. All she has is you, and the babe. So you go to her, or swim.”
Sam looked despairingly at the haze that marked the distant shoreline.
He could never swim so far, he knew