Does it have a name, my lord? It did, once. He did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. Some of the ravens were still eating, long stringy bits of meat dangling from their beaks. Good, said King Joffrey.
Ned was half-tempted to turn him away, but thought better of it. The Kingslayer is restless, and quick to anger, her uncle Brynden had told Robb. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm with a noseguard, and a mail coif. Ser Raymun Darry guarded his look well.
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