He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. His hands still smelled of horse blood. Here was her son on his stallion, glancing back at her one last time and lifting his sword in salute. And you tell me what you want me to know, and that's less, Jon thought resentfully.
Illyrio whispered to them. No one talked to Arya. Caress the fabric. He is charged with treason.
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