I have done everything I can for Bran, she said, laying a wounded hand on his arm. A strand of hair dangled in her eyes, limp with sweat. He loves me. There is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand sin or shame as we do.
Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold. Sweet one, her father said gently, listen to me. I have to, Jon said fervently. Those red eyes never left Tyrion.
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