It was bitingly cold up here,and the wind pulled at his clothes like an insistent lover.

No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard.” Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. “I am not threatening the king, ser, I am educating my nephew. Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth, kill him.” The dwarf smiled. “Now that was a threat, ser. See the difference?

but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down ot go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.

Start trying to work out who deserves what, and before long you'll spend the rest of your days weeping for each and every person in the world.

An honest kiss, a little kindness, everyone deserves that much, however big or small.

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.

When I sleep I turn into a wolf. Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. Do wolves dreams?