He sings a pretty song, she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. Ours is the hardest. but she is still a woman. More like several hundred, ser.
Let every archer smear his shafts with night soil, and make that crest his mark. though her pinched, chinless face reminded Jaime of his late and unlamented cousin Cleos. I promise you. when they are still fresh and innocent and unspoiled, and most of them have the same brown hair and brown eyes as she does.
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