Ser Hugh of the Vale, Littlefinger named him. The things we love destroy us every time, lad. His bare cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and his legs complained more loudly with every step, but Tyrion ignored them. Pale crimson fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon.
Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood. I did not see you standing there. When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were. I won't let you.
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