Love Is Sweet, Dearest Ned, But It

Give A Thing A Name And It Will Somehow Come To Be.

From Where I Sit, Battles Are Hard. I’ve Written My Share. Sometimes I Employ The Private’s Viewpoint, Very Up Close And Personal, Dropping The Reader Right Into The Middle Of The Carnage. That’s Vivid And Visceral, But Of Necessity Chaotic, And It Is Easy To Lose All Sense Of The Battle As A Whole. Sometimes I Go With The General’s Point Of View Instead, Looking Down From On High, Seeing Lines And Flanks And Reserves. That Gives A Great Sense Of The Tactics, Of How The Battle Is Won Or Lost, But Can Easily Slide Into Abstraction.

He Wants You To Smile And Smell Sweet And Be His Lady Love. He Wants To Hear You Recite All Your Pretty Little Words The Way The Septa Taught You. He Wants You To Love Him... And Fear Him.

A Few Days Ago She Had Been Wandering Around With A Swatch Of Black Silk Tied Over Her Eyes. Syrio Was Teaching Her To See With Her Ears And Her Nose And Her Skin, She Told Him. Before That, He Had Her Doing Spinds And Back Flips. "arya, Are You Certain You Want To Persist In This?" She Nodded. "tomorrow We're Going To Catch Cats." "cats." Ned Sighed.

If We Leave Our Smells Behind Us When We Leave A Room, Surely Something Of Our Souls Must Remain When We Leave This Life?" - Qyburn