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... orn into Winterfell like trophies, their weapons confiscated, their heads bowed in defeat. Yara Greyjoy walked near the front of her people, shoulders tense, but her chin lifted defiantly. The snow fell lightly around us, gathering on the courtyard's cobblestones and on their cloaks. A silence was present in the air, marred only by the sound of our footfalls and the Ironborn's occasional grumbles.

Viserion was taking short leaps, flapping her wings to carry her into the air briefly befor ...

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