The flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater fires. The morning was unnaturally warm; beads of sweat dotted the Lord Commander's broad forehead like dew on a melon. There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. He had promised to watch the final tilts with Sansa; Septa Mordane was ill today, and his daughter was determined not to miss the end of the jousting.
They were brutes and bullies, without a thimble of honor between them. The heavy jeweled chain222 GEORGE R. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. Hold the river.
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