A dead enemy is a joy forever

He wished he could relieve himself of his doubts and guilts half as easily.

His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.

I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest?

Her lord father had taught her never to steal, but it was growing harder to remember why.

Children are a battle of a different sort. ... A battle without banners or warhorns but no less fierce.

She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.