The Lord Of Winterfell Would Always Be

The Heart Lies And The Head Plays Tricks On Us, But The Eyes See True. Look With Your Eyes. Hear With Your Ears. Taste With Your Mouth. Smell With Your Nose. Feel With Your Skin. Then Comes The Thinking, Afterward, And In A Way Knowing The Truth.

One Voyage To The East And A Man Could Live As Rich As A Lord Until The End Of His Days. When He'd Been Younger, Davos Had Dreamed Of Making Such Voyages Himself. But The Years Went Dancing By Like Moths Around A Flame, And Somehow The Time Had Never Been Quite Right.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.

I Did Not Do It. Yet Now I Wish I Had.’ He Turned To Face The Hall, That Sea Of Pale Faces. ‘i Wish I Had Enough Poison For You All. You Make Me Sorry That I Am Not The Monster You Would Have Me Be, Yet There It Is. I Am Innocent, But I Will Get No Justice Here.

Some Doors Are Best Left Closed.