Gods, he swore, laughing, it feels good to get out and tide the way a man was meant to ride! I swear, Ned, this creeping along is enough to drive a man mad. Purple with rage, the king lashed out, a vicious backhand blow to the side of the head. The king's pavilion was close by the water, and the morning mists off the river had wreathed it in wisps of grey. If a man paints a target on his chest, he should expect that sooner or later someone will loose an arrow at him.
He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. Why, Father, said Tyrion, that almost sounds like praise. The rest fled to their own strongholds. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too.
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