Across the table a handsome youth was fingering a woodharp. We are sending you to Eastwatch. Ser Loras is young, said Ned. By your leave, my lady.
The steward held a cup to Ned's lips. Once he was gone, the woods seemed to close in around Bran. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed. DAENERYS The Dothraki sea, Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge.
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