I haven't lost it. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. As ever, Robert had not troubled himself to attend the council session, so it fell to his Hand to speak for him. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer.
Are you telling me those prancing cravens will let me win? For a certainty, Ned said, and Ser Barristan Selmy bowed his head in silent accord. They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented mare's milk He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close. Robb sat in the bow with Grey Wind, his hand resting on his direwolf s head as the rowers pulled at their oars.
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