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Frostbite

3.2k words
"No mother deserves to watch her children die," she had overheard a guard mentioning once, though she had not seen his face nor the coat of arms he bore in his chest. Am I still a mother if I have no children left to me? Catelyn wondered. Is an apple tree still a tree after it's been carved out?
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There Is Love That Doesn't Have a Place to Rest

5.6k words
The sky was dark and ugly the day Balon Greyjoy was brought before the King to either lose his head or his pride. Thick, dark clouds hung above, and men firmed their feet on the wet stony ground to face the wind that blew from the sea. Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, looked at the water and saw his reflection staring back. "It won't rain, 'tis just damn ironborn weather," he heard someone behind him mumble, while far away, a lone thunder boomed.
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I Wasn't Born to Stoop, to Scorn, and Knuckle Under

260 words
"I… I had no other choice."

"Then tell me, girl," the darkin roars the word like a curse, and Xolaani can no longer hide the disgust brewing underneath it—the resentment, the envy that screams Xolaani herself has been a monster for far longer than she ever was a girl. "What choice is there for the starving when you place before them a plate of meat?"
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