696 GEORGE R. Perchance later you'll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river. Arya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. Blood leaked from a wound on the upper arm where Robb had cut her.
Tears stung his eyes. Honors? Ned laughed bitterly. I need you to deliver a letter for me. Freeriders and sellswords have been flocking to Casterly Rock, and not for the thin pleasure of Lord Tywin's conversation.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.