That one was for Jaime. In his hand was Oathkeeper. At midnight the hinges on the Father's Doors gave a groan as several hundred septons filed in for their devotions. Tears rolled from her brown eyes.
Nephew, speak to us of our son Cleos and the manner of his death. She had played this talk out in her head half a hundred times, like a mummer in a show. There is no place for them here. Perhaps I should have sent him to the Wall.
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