Men See What They Expect To See.

When You Smell Our Candles Burning, What Does It Make You Think Of, My Child?" Winterfell, She Might Have Said. I Smell Snow And Smoke And Pine Needles. I Smell The Stables. I Smell Hodor Laughing, And Jon And Robb Battling In The Yard, And Sansa Singing About Some Stupid Lady Fair. I Smell The Crypts Where The Stone Kings Sit. I Smell Hot Bread Baking. I Smell The Godswood. I Smell My Wolf. I Smell Her Fur, Almost As If She Were Still Beside Me. "i Don't Smell Anything," She Said.

If I Die, I Die Friendless And Abandoned. What Choice Did That Leave Him, But To Live?

Men Are Mad And Gods Are Madder, She Told The Grass, And The Grass Murmured Its Agreement.

Even The Sky Was Grey. Grey And Grey And Greyer. The Whole World Grey, Everywhere You Look, Everything Grey Except The Eyes Of The Bride. The Eyes Of The Bride Were Brown. Big And Brown And Full Of Fear.

She Could Not Bear To Look At Him Just Now. If She Did, She Might Well Slap Him Again. Or Cry. Or Kiss Him. And Never Know Which Was Right And Which Was Wrong And Which Was Madness.