They had been twelve days crossing the Neck, rumbling down a crooked causeway through an endless black bog, and she had hated every moment of it. You do not command the dragon. If she looked back she was lost. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.
He watched, only half conscious, for a long moment before he finally remembered to look for his sword . Desmond laughed. Lord Renly laughed. It was you who sent me that cursed letter, you who wrote that the Lannisters had murdered your husband.
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