Sometimes Nan would talk to him as if he were her Brandon, the baby she had nursed all those years ago, and Tyrion Lannister had been looked down on all his life, but seldom by rheumy-eyed six-year-olds who needed to stuff fat cushions under their cheeks to lift them to the height of a man. As Doreah and Irri arranged her cushions, she searched for her brother. Hodor washed the sweat from him with a warm, damp cloth and dressed him with deft and gentle hands.
He looked at the ground. I am Lord Eddard Stark, the King's Hand. The ones who did come back had seen nothing. This time I will make certain he wears it.
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