You Can't Hammer Tin Into Iron, No

I Take No Joy In Mead Nor Meat, And Song And Laughter Have Become Suspicious Strangers To Me. I Am A Creature Of Grief And Dust And Bitter Longings. There Is An Empty Place Within Me Where My Heart Was Once.

His Snores Sounded Like Ducks Mating.

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.

What Could He Have Done, One Man Against So Many?" He Could Have Tried, Brienne Thought.

For Men, The Answer Was Always The Same And Never Farther Away Than The Nearest Sword. For A Woman, A Mother, The Way Was Stonier And Harder To Know.