Sansa had never seen anyone so beautiful. And now I demand a champion, such as you have chosen for yourself. She heated a flagon of wine to boiling on the brazier, and poured it over his wounds. It is so hot.
I want none of it. Fly or die. Magister Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys did not so much as smile. He has a number he thinks might be suitable.
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