Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. “I do not know which of you I pity most.” The queen seemed amused by that. “Save your pity for yourself, Lord Stark. I want none of it.” “You know what I must do.” “Must?” She put her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. “A true man does what he will, not what he must.” Her fingers brushed lightly against his thigh, the gentlest of promises. “The realm needs a strong Hand. Joff will not come of age for years. No one wants war again, least of all me.” Her hand touched his face, his hair. “If friends can turn to
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