Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were not men to suffer disgrace meekly; they would fight rather than flee. Most men, the boy said. Name your champion, Imp . His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes.
He was smiling. Splendid, Tyrion said dryly, shaking off the last drops. His hand left powder stains on Ned's sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave. Most of Lord Walder's strength remains massed at the Twins, though.
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