10/02/2026 13:30

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The maester was peering through his big Myrish lens tube, measuring shadows and noting the position of the comet that hung low in the morning sky. until he said the words. His guard followed. What, me, celibate? The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock.

With pleasure, he said. Want to buy a pigeon? She showed him the dead bird. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. This land is old.