He looked Ned in the eye, stubborn as old iron. Blood leaked from a wound on the upper arm where Robb had cut her. Ned did not feign surprise; Robert's hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. By all rights, you ought to be in skirts and me in mail.
A flight of arrows descended on them; where they came from he could not say, but they fell on Stark and Lannister alike, rattling off armor or finding flesh. Jon carried the food back to the King's Tower. Sansa was pale and shaking as Ned lifted her back to her feet. For a long second, no one moved.
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