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It had three eyes, and the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge.
“His name is Summer,”
Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.
“Even in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching.”
Welp
“Petyr,”
“Tyrion Lannister.”
The blame game!
No one had told him the Night’s Watch would be like this; no one except Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been too late. Jon wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. He must have, he thought; that only made it hurt the worse.
yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.
You’re a Snow, not a Stark.
“There’s much to be said for taking people unawares. You never know what you might learn.”
“Would you rather be called the Imp? Let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.”
Wear your name like a badge of honor
“The master of coin finds the money. The king and the Hand spend it.”
“Ser Rodrik?”
He was thinking back to the day Arya had been found, to the look on the queen’s face when she said, We have a wolf, so soft and quiet. He was thinking of the boy Mycah, of Jon Arryn’s sudden death, of Bran’s fall, of old mad Aerys Targaryen dying on the floor of his throne room while his life’s blood dried on a gilded blade.
“When I know the truth, I must go to Robert.” And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.
Old Bear wanted something from him.
The Night’s Watch is dying.
Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk.
but now she knew that was a lie.
Needle.
Her fault, her fault, her fault.
She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone.
‘The wolf blood,’
Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born.
“Grieve for your friend, but never blame yourself.
the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.
In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm.
“You are a sword, that is all.”
“Not a queen,” said Dany. “A khaleesi.”
“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”
There were no secrets in the khalasar.
“Khaleesi, you are with child.” “I know,” Dany told her. It was her fourteenth name day.
He wanted to ride his pony again with his brothers. He wanted it to be the way it had been before.
It would never be the way it had been, he knew.
They had all left him,
Fear is for the winter,
And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things.”
“Did it seem to you that there was anything unnatural about Lord Arryn’s death?”
But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.
Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, the dwarf had told him, grinning. The world was full of cravens who pretended to be heroes;
but it’s not them I’m afraid of. I scream that I’m not a Stark, that this isn’t my place, but it’s no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream.”
“You have given me no cause to disown you, but neither will I allow you to inherit the land and title that should be Dickon’s.
yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them.
but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night’s Watch.
“If the day ever comes when Gendry would rather wield a sword than forge one, send him to me. He has the look of a warrior.
She did not know what was more satisfying: the sound of a dozen swords drawn as one or the look on Tyrion Lannister’s face.
“You have the Tully look.”
Somehow, the fear had gone away.
It was not enough. “If you ever tell anyone,” he finished, “I’ll kill you.”
every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”
