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"You're lost, prince."
"Am I?" Daeron peered around as if only now noticing where he'd ended up. "Doesn't seem so. I was looking for a tent, and here's a tent." He gestured broadly, nearly toppling himself in the process.
"This isn't your tent."
"No, mine's much finer." Daeron took another wobbling step closer. "Silks and satin and all manner of royal rubbish. Dreadfully boring."Daeron stumbles into Raymun's tent after Baelor's funeral, and Raymun takes care of him despite every reason not to.
