The Only Game. The Game Of Thrones.

Littlefinger Looked Like A Boy Who Had Just Taken A Furtive Bite From A Honeycomb. He Was Trying To Watch For Bees, But The Honey Was So Sweet.

Choosing... It Has Always Hurt. And Always Will. I Know.

I Heard Of A Man Who Had A Razor Made Of Valyrian Steel. He Cut His Head Off Trying To Shave.

When You Smell Our Candles Burning, What Does It Make You Think Of, My Child?" Winterfell, She Might Have Said. I Smell Snow And Smoke And Pine Needles. I Smell The Stables. I Smell Hodor Laughing, And Jon And Robb Battling In The Yard, And Sansa Singing About Some Stupid Lady Fair. I Smell The Crypts Where The Stone Kings Sit. I Smell Hot Bread Baking. I Smell The Godswood. I Smell My Wolf. I Smell Her Fur, Almost As If She Were Still Beside Me. "i Don't Smell Anything," She Said.

I Am The Sword In The Darkness. I Am The Watcher On The Walls. I Am The Fire That Burns Against The Cold, The Light That Brings The Dawn, The Horn That Wakes The Sleepers, The Shield That Guards The Realms Of Men.