Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. The arm was crawling up his leg, ripping at wool and flesh. Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Let them mock, Bran thought.
She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Bronn blew gently on the fire, and the flames leapt up higher. The slim young serving girl took quick note of Ned's badge and the sigil on his doublet, and the master came hurrying out, all smiles and bows. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death.
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