Jeyne yawned. Where Ice was a true two-handed greatsword, this was a hand-and-a-halfer, sometimes named a bastard sword. None taken, Ser Jaremy. You broke my wrist, bastard boy.
Pycelle continued. Her windows opened on the alley and rooftops, with a view of the Blackwater beyond. It looked old; hammered red bronze, leaf-shaped, its blade covered with ancient glyphs. The thought made him sick.
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