AQuoteOfIceAndFireさんのイラストまとめ

“They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, & velvets, while you live & die in black ringmail. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung.”

He took a bite and pursed his lips. “Tart.”

“Would my lord prefer something sweeter?”

“Sweetness cloys. Tart fruit and tart women give life its savor.”

-Xaro Xhoan Daxos, Daenerys III, A Dance With Dragons
#ASongOfIceAndFire 🎨amuelia

At its apex Valyria was the greatest city in the known world, the center of civilization. Within its shining walls, twoscore rival houses vied for power and glory in court and council, rising and falling in an endless, subtle, oft savage struggle for dominance.

“Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite sure.”

“Is he afraid?” Ned asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “He is only three.”

Ned frowned. “He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming.”

Not Maekar after all, Dunk knew, when he saw those banners. The banners of the Prince of Summerhall showed four three-headed dragons. A single white dragon announced the presence of the King’s Hand, Lord Brynden Rivers.

Bloodraven himself had come to Whitewalls.

“Are you babes in swaddling clothes, to be cozened by flowers, feasts & soft words? Who told you the war was done? The Clubfoot? The Snake? Why, because they wish it done? Because you won your little victory in the mud? Wars end when the defeated bend the knee & not before.”

She clutched tight at his hand. “Nothing will happen to you. Nothing. I could not stand it. They took Ned, & your sweet brothers. Sansa is married, Arya lost, my father’s dead…if anything befell you, I would go mad, Robb. You are all I have left. You are all the north has left.”

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone.

“I never said a word. I looked at him seated there on the throne, and I waited. At last Jaime laughed and got up. He took off his helm, and he said to me, ‘Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It’s not a very comfortable seat, I’m afraid.’ ”

The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. Somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.