Every Man Must Die, Jon Snow. But

It Was The Easiest Thing In The World For Arya To Step Up Behind Him And Stab Him. “is There Gold Hidden In The Village?” She Shouted As She Drove The Blade Up Through His Back. “is There Silver? Gems?” She Stabbed Twice More. “is There Food? Where Is Lord Beric?” She Was On Top Of Him By Then, Still Stabbing. “where Did He Go? How Many Men Were With Him? How Many Knights? How Many Bowmen? How Many, How Many, How Many, How Many, How Many, How Many? Is There Gold In The Village?

This Is The Bravo’s Dance, The Water Dance, Swift And Sudden. All Men Are Made Of Water, Do You Know This? When You Pierce Them, The Water Leaks Out And They Die.

I Knew That, When Writing A Book, You're Not Constrained By A Budget. You're Not Constrained By What You Can Do, In Terms Of The Special Effects Technology. You're Not Limited To Any Particular Running Time.

It's Different For Every Writer. It's Not A Career For Anyone Who Needs Security. It's A Career For Gamblers. It's A Career Of Ups And Downs.

Ser Jaime?" Even In Soiled Pink Satin And Torn Lace, Brienne Looked More Like A Man In A Gown Than A Proper Woman."i Am Grateful, But...you Were Well Away. Why Come Back?" A Dozen Quips Came To Mind, Each Crueler Than The One Before, But Jaime Only Shrugged. "i Dreamed Of You," He Said.