Enough of this. Between them stood the king's own steward. He was a swaggering bantam rooster of a youth, too young and too hot-blooded for Ned's taste, though a fast friend of Catelyn's brother, Edmure Tully. You are mad, the godswife said hoarsely.
That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. You must never mock me like that. He took a long moment to consider. Behind them-after a quick bit of grumbling-the five clansmen followed on their undersize garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls like goats.
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