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.”

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.