It Was Bitingly Cold Up Here,and The

Mother Said," Mocked The King. "don't Be Childish." "we're Children," Myrcella Declared Haughtily. "we're Supposed To Be Childish." The Hound Laughed. "she Has You There.

The Strongest Trees Are Rooted In The Dark Places Of The Earth. Darkness Will Be Your Cloak, Your Shield, Your Mother's Milk. Darkness Will Make You Strong.

In Order To Get Inside Their Skin, I Have To Identify With Them. That Includes Even The Ones Who Are Complete Bastards, Nasty, Twisted, Deeply Flawed Human Beings With Serious Psychological Problems. Even Them. When I Get Inside Their Skin And Look Out Through Their Eyes, I Have To Feel A Certain - If Not Sympathy, Certainly Empathy For Them. I Have To Try To Perceive The World As They Do, And That Creates A Certain Amount Of Affection.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.

One Night, In His Cups, He Drank A Jar Of Wildfire, After Telling His Friends It Would Transform Him Into A Dragon, But The Gods Were Kind And It Transformed Him Into A Corpse.