Spikes, " He Sighed. "heads. Walls.

Oh, My Sweet Summer Child," Old Nan Said Quietly, "what Do You Know Of Fear? Fear Is For The Winter, My Little Lord, When The Snows Fall A Hundred Feet Deep And The Ice Wind Comes Howling Out Of The North. Fear Is For The Long Night, When The Sun Hides Its Face For Years At A Time, And Little Children Are Born And Live And Die All In Darkness While The Direwolves Grow Gaunt And Hungry, And The White Walkers Move Through The Woods

These Old Knights Are More Cunning Than You Think, Or They Would Never Have Lived To See Their First Grey Hair.

When Maester Aemon Heard Him Sing, He Said His Voice Was Honey Poured Over Thunder.

Not Everyone Who Spoke You Friendly Was Really Your Friend." - Arya

I Do Play All The Characters, When I Write Them, One After Another. If They Actually Had To Film Me, The Only One I Could Play Would Be Samwell Tarly Or Hot Pie.