I am sorry, Khaleesi. Or curse me for my stubborn pride, for sending her away when I neededher most. Only the first of those is truly her own, and it will soon deserther. His swom men.
There's nought like a tourney to make theblood run hot, so maybe some words were whispered in a tent of a night, whocan say? Wor Yet still heclimbed. Tell himhe's mistaken. If you did it wouldn't open.
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