In The End Words Are Just Wind.

In The Game Of Thrones, Even The Humblest Pieces Can Have Wills Of Their Own. Sometimes They Refuse To Make The Moves You've Planned For Them.

Drifting Snowflakes Brushed Her Face As Light As Lover’s Kisses, And Melted On Her Cheeks. At The Center Of The Garden, Beside The Statue Of The Weeping Woman That Lay Broken And Half-buried On The Ground, She Turned Her Face Up To The Sky And Closed Her Eyes. She Could Feel The Snow On Her Lashes, Taste It On Her Lips. It Was The Taste Of Winterfell. The Taste Of Innocence. The Taste Of Dreams.

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?

Shattered Legs May Heal In Time, But Some Betrayals Fester And Poison The Soul.

His Eyes Were Open Wounds Beneath His Heavy Brows, A Blue As Dark As The Sea By Night.