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... ut the Warden’s bedchamber still held a comfortable warmth that pushed back the bitter chill seeping through the stone walls of Winterfell.

Ned Stark sat back in the heavy oak armchair, the brandy in his goblet spreading a slow heat through his chest. Ashara’s sitting on the arm rest, her fingers were threading gently through his dark hair with slow, soothing strokes.

Elia Martell watched them from the opposite chair, her dark eyes soft in the low light, one bare foot tucked bene ...

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