“Once. Me and thousands more. Is each of us guilty of the crimes of the others?”
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khalasar remained below decks, preferring the company of their nervous horses to the
other food lodged in the royal throat. “It was poison that killed him, my lords,” said
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was a terrible traitor, I know, but if we start killing men at weddings they’ll be even more
Littlefinger laughed. “Ser Dontos the Red was a skin of wine with legs. He could never
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Even now, rascally smugglers may be sailing across the Blackwater Bay, hoping to avoid
disappointed. “You admit you poisoned the king?”
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Seated betwixt his black oak towers, the Lord of the Crossing clapped his spotted
bloody cold on the Wall, but at least I would be shut of Cersei. He did not think he would
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“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in
“At all times?” Prince Oberyn lifted a thin black eyebrow. “And why is that, my good
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across the camp. The musicians in the nearer castle were playing a different song than
“And all the local lads are grateful, I am quite sure.”
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generosity, and would have given his son any dagger he wanted . . . but Tyrion guessed
father would withhold the sword. You would be permitted to take the black.”
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Rickon and Shaggydog, eating eels and fish and hot crab pie with fat Lord Manderly. Or
days, meeting with the Corbrays. From bits and pieces of overheard conversations Sansa
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“It was poison that killed Joffrey, not sorcery.” Lord Tywin glanced at Jaime’s stump
closest. I say we take her there, get the gold, and be bloody well done with her.”
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hills, half a heartbeat behind the lightning. The lightning lord, she thought angrily. Maybe
horsehair pants and painted leather vest, a bronze medallion belt about her waist and
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worn over armor, so it draped his body loosely, but across it crackled the forked purple
well. Jon Arryn’s widow, Hoster Tully’s daughter, Catelyn Stark’s sister . . . whose
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told them to come back in better times, while the lad stood silent, his crossbow under his
about his neck. Inside he kept the bones of the four fingers his king had shortened for
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jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot thirty feet into the air, and another where someone
“I ought to write Robb Stark a stern letter,” Littlefinger was saying. “I understand his
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Lord Beric touched the spot above his left ear where his temple was caved in. “Here is
that he would. As the sound of the rain on the roof mingled with her father’s breathing,
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“Let them try.” He loosened his longsword in its scabbard, and pushed through the