They were led to a spot of high ground dry enough for a camp. Mord raised his arm and Tyrion braced himself for another blow, but the turnkey hesitated. That was the best time of all. All justice flows from the king, he told her.
It struck him suddenly that he might return to Winterfell by sea. He sat high upon the immense ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror, an ironwork monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and grotesquely twisted metal. I almost forgot, he told her. Our mistress is honor.
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