[There is silence, but for a distant, ragged breath, a scuffing in snow. Jaime swallows - the sound is thick, pained, but the lion is not to be quelled by such a thing.]
You whoreson, Stark.
[He sucks in a breath, sore. He forces a bright grin.Seems I still have both of my hands, however. And my sword. And my head, which you ended up lacking and
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