My whisperers tell me that they are whipping him, but so far he is still singing the same sweet song we taught him. Why? What god has made it so? I am my father's heir. The scratches are nothing. There's cold beef in the kitchens.
After our mother died he never touched a woman. You forced me into this travesty of a wedding, my lord, and I shall not soon forget it. Ser Ilyn spat into the river. amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold's nights of old.
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