And then there was nothing to be done for it. He did not march. He must have, he thought; that only made it hurt the worse. Lord Petyr sauntered into the solar as if nothing had gone amiss that morning.
She felt so tiny in his arms, nothing but a scrawny little girl. He had a raven on his arm, and he was feeding it kernels of corn. He looked down gravely at the sword in his hands. Pour, Ser Jorah commanded.
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