I remember once I asked Maester Luwin why he wore a chain around his throat. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's brood and by far the ugliest. Huge flowers bloomed in the mud and floated on pools of stagnant water, but if you were stupid enough to Lysa had done him no favor in that regard.
That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. Scarcely a man now alive had yet been born when Malleon had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths. I named her Barra, she said as the child nursed. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points.
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