13/03/2026 00:27

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Go find Ser Aron Santagar. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. Old Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his eyes. The shallows were muddy and choked with reeds.

I'll be good, you'll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen. It was a short, ugly thing, its grip discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but Will would not have given an iron bob for the lordling's life if Gared pulled it from its scabbard. And he would. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name.