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[color=black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]In return we swore that we should always be their men. STARK men!

Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK

Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.

“Dressing her in grey and white serves no good if the girl is left to sob. The Freys may not care, but the northmen … they fear the Dreadfort, but they love the Starks.”

“Old Whoresbane is only here because the Freys hold the Greatjon captive. And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard’s last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned’s precious little girl.”

My son Wendel came to the the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder's bread and salt, and hung his sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter ... but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]Every little girl needs a big brother to protect her. Tywin was big even when he was little.

Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years.

I would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin.

Every once in a very long while, Lord Tywin Lannister would actually threaten to smile, he never did, but the threat alone was terrible to behold.

Men say Tywin never smiled, but he smiled when he wed your mother, and when Aerys made him Hand. When Tarbeck Hall came crashing down on Lady Ellyn, that scheming bitch, Tyg claimed he smiled then, and he smiled at your birth, Jaime, I saw with my own eyes.

Lord Tywin wore no crown, yet he was all a king should be.

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]Doran plays to win, whether at cyvasse or the game of thrones.

I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children.

I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes.

She narrowed her eyes. "What is our heart’s desire?" "Vengeance." His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. "Justice." Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, "Fire and blood."

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it.

Oberyn was ever the viper. Deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dared tread on him.

Oberyn has always been half-mad.

“An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”
“No,” Tyrion admitted warily.
“Why, if the gods were cruel, they would have made me my mother’s firstborn, and Doran her third. I am a bloodthirsty man, you see. And it is me you must contend with now, not my patient, prudent, and gouty brother.”

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]Night gathers, and now my war begins.

Sometimes there is no happy choice, Sam, only one less grievous than the others

No. Not enough. Never enough.

There’s no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it.

My lords, when Donal Noye was slain, it was this young man Jon Snow who took the Wall and held it, against all the fury of the north. He has proved himself valiant, loyal, and resourceful. Were it not for him, you would have found Mance Rayder sitting here when you arrived, Lord Slynt... Jon Snow was Lord Mormont’s own steward and squire. He was chosen for that duty because the Lord Commander saw much promise in him. As do I.

Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.

Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel. The same counsel I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. "Kill the boy within you," I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. "It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born." You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.

We look up at the same stars, and see such different things.

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]The siege had left him gaunt, but not weak, Never Weak.

I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne.

This is Stannis Baratheon. The man will fight to the bitter end and then some.

Hard was the word men used when they spoke of Stannis, and hard he was.

There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man

Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He’ll break before he bends.

I stopped believing in gods the day I saw the Windproud break up across the bay. Any gods so monstrous as to drown my mother and father would never have my worship, I vowed. In King’s Landing, the High Septon would prattle at me of how all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either was made by men."- King Stannis Baratheon.

"These lords who flocked to my brother’s banners knew him for a usurper. They turned their backs on their rightful king for no better reason than dreams of power and glory, and I have marked them for what they are. Pardoned them, yes. Forgiven. But not forgotten."

Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends.

Stannis bristled at that. “I defeated your uncle Victarion and his Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, the first time your father crowned himself. I held Storm’s End against the power of the Reach for a year, and took Dragonstone from the Targaryens. I smashed Mance Rayder at the Wall, though he had twenty times my numbers. Tell me, turncloak, what battles has the Bastard of Bolton ever won that I should fear him?”

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other.

It was that white cloak that soiled me, not the other way around.

The things I do for love...

There are no men like me. There's only me.

That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but somewhere along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms] “And the man breaks.“He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain[…]. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.”[…]
“The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt.
“So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.”

Why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones[color=gold][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]

Spoiler [color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]This man protected the weak, as every true knight must, let the gods determine if he was right or wrong.

"Heartsick, Dunk wheeled Thunder and raced back and forth before the tiers of pale cold men. Despair made him shout. “ARE THERE NO TRUE KNIGHTS AMONG YOU?”
Only silence answered.
Across the field, Prince Aerion laughed. “The dragon is not mocked,” he called out.
Then came a voice. “I will take Ser Duncan’s side.”
A black stallion emerged from out of the river mists, a black knight on his back. Dunk saw the dragon shield, and the red enamel crest upon his helm with its three roaring heads. The Young Prince. Gods be good, it is truly him?
Lord Ashford made the same mistake. “Prince Valarr?”
“No.” The black knight lifted the visor of his helm. “I did not think to enter the lists at Ashford, my lord, so I brought no armor. My son was good enough to lend me his.” Prince Baelor smiled almost sadly." […]This man protected the weak, as every true knight must, let the gods determine if he was right or wrong.

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[color= black][size=14pt][font=comic sans ms]The gods be damned. It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown ... it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe ... and mine again, as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown? The gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike.

Robert was the true steel.

This Baratheon is fearless. He fights the way a king should fight.

Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more.

Robert was a  good man, a great warrior.