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.

Bianchi is asexual. Unfortunately, she is an asexual woman in the mafia. And for women in the mafia, that is Not. An. Option.

[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.

Everyone is so focused on preparing for the hurricane that they miss a series of storms, each one longer than the last. You don't get to where Claire has without having a hell of a good method of compartmentalizing things that need to get done from things that don't have the luxury of happening.

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