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Irri scrubbed her back. She turned to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. They stood quietly at the back of the hall as Arya spoke. When Maester Aemon heard him sing, he said his voice was honey poured over thunder.

She could sense the fierce strength in his hands, but he never hurt her. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her. No, Catelyn said. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants.

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