Tyrion knew, as he gazed up at the dark skinned Martell man that this was perhaps his only chance to spirit Sansa out of King's Landing and away from his father's greedy fingers. Tywin Lannister would have married the girl himself if he felt he could have gotten away with it, and so Tyrion knew his own marriage was no protection to Ned Stark's daughter whatsoever. "Invite her, demand her, steal her--whatever you choose, Prince Oberyn, choose it soon. Else my lady wife shall break into more pieces than the stars."

Somewhere far away, far from the home she once knew – the home she can no longer remember, or she can but she does not wish too – there is a girl who does not remember her name, nor anything of the life she came from. Until the night she dreams of wolves.

[a tribute to dornish women; sainted, besmirched, or misunderstood] Doran went still in a temper; cold, steady as the mountain passes in the moments before lightning struck. Oberyn raged, louder than any storm. Elia smiled, thin and small, and struck.

The dragons were devoted to the children first and foremost, but Drogon would snap and flame at anyone who came too close to Rhaella, Balerion could on occasion be found curled up on Elia's lap while she worked, and Ghost had once arranged himself just so along the back of the Iron Throne while Lyanna held court in her husband's absence - it was the most productive court session she'd ever been party to. Or, Rhaegar marries Lyanna Stark, and runs away with Elia Martell

Jaime looked back at Robb with rage blazing through him and said, low and utterly flat, “The next time I see you, Stark, I’ll kill you.” “The next time I see you, Ser Jaime,” Robb said, “if you ask nicely, I’ll do it again.”

Jon finds himself wandering. His feet carry him to one of the battlements, snow coming down in soft-feathered waves that dust the rooftops. Winterfell is alive with light, windows glowing and chimneys smoking, and Jon can't remember the last time he saw it so full of life, walls still standing tall. This Winterfell has never seen a Bolton occupation, has never witnessed the march of the dead, the wrath of dragon fire. It is eight years before the fall of the Wall, and it feels like a dream. Jon still can't bring himself to completely believe it. Mance Rayder is not yet King Beyond The Wall, the Free Folk have not yet begun to gather, and what stories there are of White Walkers and the dead that walk are still only that, just stories. It has not yet begun, Jon thinks, dread sinking in his stomach. And then- It has not yet begun, Jon thinks again, the thought taking on a new turn in his mind. - Jon has been given a second chance, a chance to change everything.

Two days after they received word of a Frey girl joining Robb Stark at Moat Cailin and riding off north with him, a ship from the Stormlands arrived, and Tyrion went down personally to meet it. Or rather, to meet the man coming off of it: one Selwyn of Tarth.