14/05/2026 11:41

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The talk is he's ridden back to Casterly Rock to join his father. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. She dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a man climbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. A heartbeat later, the riders were on them.

I would not. The girl was a whore, you see. Off the horse. Speak to them for us.