"I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
I’ll never know why it’s coming down, down, down.”
The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace. They never are.
I’ve seen it for 17 years on face after face. You all despise me.
For Home. For Winterfell.
And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.
Yes, Arya thought. Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s more wolf than man, and so am I.
“You cannot seriously intend to send Trystane and Myrcella to King’s Landing. Do that, and we will never see the girl again, and your son will spend his life a hostage to the Iron Throne.”