What place is this? she asked Him. A stream of pink-cheeked novices hurried by him toward the septry. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. I'm just a smith.
He wondered what Ser Kevan might have had to say about his son's new fervor. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing. She remembered how shed run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the felling star. If my father must have blood, it should be mine.
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