AQuoteOfIceAndFireさんのイラストまとめ

Bran would never forget the look on Robb’s face as he stared at their sister’s words. “She says we must be loyal, and when she marries Joffrey she will plead with him to spare our lord father’s life.” His fingers closed into a fist, crushing Sansa’s letter between them.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”

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“Aye, I’ll grant your boon.”

“And in return?”

“All I ask is all of you, forever,” the Lord of Winterfell said solemnly. “I claim your hand in marriage.”

“A hand for a head,” said Black Aly, grinning…for Mushroom tells us this was her intent all along. “Done.” And it was.

A Martell sun, but ten years too young, Tyrion thought as he reined up, too fit as well, and far too fierce. He knew what he must deal with by then. How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war? he asked himself. Only one. Yet he had no choice but to smile.

“What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms … or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind & words. Wind & words. We are only human, & the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, & our great tragedy.”

“Ser Jaime?” Even in soiled pink satin & 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.”

“You will love Highgarden as I do, I know it.” Margaery brushed back a loose strand of Sansa’s hair. “Once you see it, you’ll never want to leave. And perhaps you won’t have to.”

-Sansa I, A Storm Of Swords
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Stannis put a thin, fleshless hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Say nothing of what we’ve discussed here today. But when you return, you need only bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell.”

He could hear her still at times. ‘Promise me,’ she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. ‘Promise me, Ned.’

-Eddard I, A Game Of Thrones
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100 leagues from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell. 300 miles as the raven flies. Fifteen days. The 15th day of the march came & went, & they had crossed less than half the distance. A trail of broken wayns & frozen corpses stretched back behind them, buried beneath the blowing snow.