Trust Is Earned. Like Gold.

Catelyn Had Never Liked This Godswood. She Had Been Born A Tully, At Riverrun Far To The South, On The Red Fork Of The Trident. The Godswood There Was A Garden, Bright And Airy, Where Tall Redwoods Spread Dappled Shadows Across Tinkling Streams, Birds Sang From Hidden Nests, And The Air Was Spicy With The Scent Of Flowers.

A Frightened Man Is A Beaten Man.

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.

We Know Truth For The Cruel Instrument It Is. Beauty Is Infinitely Preferable To Truth.

Fantasy Is Silver And Scarlet, Indigo And Azure, Obsidian Veined With Gold And Lapis Lazuli. Reality Is Plywood And Plastic, Done Up In Mud Brown And Olive Drab. Fantasy Tastes Of Habaneros And Honey, Cinnamon And Cloves, Rare Red Meat And Wines As Sweet As Summer. Reality Is Beans And Tofu, And Ashes At The End.