Ned had lingered scarcely a fortnight with his new bride before he too had ridden off to war with promises on his lips. The one-eyed crone peered at Dany. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell off the wound was hideous. See her to her bedchamber.
Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. He would have a day to make his choice. They don't like that. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.
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