Well, I'm going with Septon Meribald to Saltpans. And after that nothing woidd do but to drink two cups for Aemon of House Targaryen. Dalla brought him forth during battle, as the swords sang all around her. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely.
His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but he was in no mood for having Aerys Targaryen thrown in his face. Pyg was edging closer. I'm a squire. He must have gotten drunk again, he thought glumly.
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