Piss on that. The Usurper would agree. Bran reached up over his head and pulled himself out of his seat, drawing the dead weight of his legs up through the holes in the wicker basket. Summer snatched table scraps from Bran's hand, while Grey Wind and Shaggydog fought over a bone in the corner.
Lysa allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile. She was all in blue, powdered and perfumed for the suitors who filled her court. Drink, my lord. Oh? Littlefinger's grey-green eyes glittered with amusement.
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