Lord Tywin Lannister rose to his feet. He was past any help, but when Tyrion saw one of the northerners run up and make a grab for his reins, he charged. Here and there the glow of hearth fires shone through shuttered windows, leaking between wooden slats, but only a few. At the end she was knee-deep in foulsmelling water, wishing she could dance upon it as Syrio might have, and wondering if she'd ever see light again.
Grand Maester Pycelle stirred uneasily beside him, while Littlefinger toyed with a pen. Robert, I want her punished. Pity, we could use a horse like that. The fat one said the princess was with child.
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