He wanted my hand. I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon, Dany reminded him. The mare leapt over him, out into the night. Ser Willis Wode remained with Ser Rodrik, a soft-spoken septon fussing over their wounds.
A spasm of pain took him, and his fingers clutched hers hard. Could he be innocent after all, of Bran and Jon Arryn and all the rest? And if he was, what did that make her? Six men had died to bring him here. His life was laughter, and meat roasting over a firepit, and a horse between his legs. If Bran fell off his horse or injured himself, the maester was determined to be with him.
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