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somehow forgot to visit his wounded son
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after he fell on the battlefield.
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Maester Pycelle assured me your wounds were not fatal.
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I organized the defense of this city
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while you held court in the ruins of Harrenhal.
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I led the foray when the enemies were at the gate
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while your grandson, the king,
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quivered in fear behind the walls.
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I bled in the mud for our family.
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And as my reward,
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I was trundled off to some dark little cell.
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But what do I want?