There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. Nor should you. Butterflies fluttered nervously in Sansa's stomach. She listened to the skirling of the wind and the scuffling sound of leather on stone.
Ser Boros Blount guarded the far end of the bridge, white steel armor ghostly in the moonlight. Where are the children? He would always ask her that. The man gave her a quick, sullen glance. Robb is fourteen.
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