Even the thought made him feel foolish; he was a man grown now, a black brother of the Night's Watch, not the boy who'd once sat at Old Nan's feet with Bran and Robb and Arya. The victor was the red priest, Thoros of Myr, a madman who shaved his head and fought with a flaming sword. He handed the bronze tube back to the maester, and noticed how thin Luwin's hair had grown on top. That was all it took; the fools came rushing forward.
Winter is coming, said the Stark words. The power of Casterly Rock was far away, and there were no friends of the Lannisters in the Vale of Arryn. I promised her I'd ask if she could see her father. She sobbed as she struggled to her knees.
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