Stark had offered it to him in an excess of Night's Watch gallantry, no doubt expecting him to graciously decline. Ned began. He slapped a hand on his knee. Take him away and put him in irons, Catelyn said.
Her hair was matted with blood. Like the snowfall on the barrowlands, it seemed the tears would never end. Drogo will be enraptured. So Ned bent his head and wrote, but where the king had said my son Joffrey, he scrawled my heir instead.
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