The brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. but not before it had slain Ser Jaremy Rykker and four other men. Ned touched the boy's head, fingering the thick black hair. Days on the march, trailing behind the khalasar, had left her limping and haggard, with blistered and bleeding feet and hollows under her eyes.
It was, oh, a year ago, no more, Jon Arryn was still the King's Hand, and I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney. The horses had been fed and a fire had been laid. He tried dragging one. So I suppose I'll let you run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you.
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