He moved away from her at a trot, leading his men downhill. He's my brother, he said. You even look like her. Ned nodded absently.
Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together, sliding into his water dancer's stance, presenting only his side to the foe. I made no threats, Tyrion said. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I'm told.
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