The old man warmed his hands before the fire. Softspoken Lord Cerwyn had actually brought his daughter with him, a plump, homely maid of thirty years who sat at her father's left hand and never lifted her eyes from her plate. She's still here, Arya blurted. Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my smallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin.
They were already at their places when Hodor carried Bran into the hall on his back, and knelt beside the high seat. The Wall is a hundred leagues long. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. He is your son, not mine.
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