There's a curse mark on the back of Sidney's neck.

She has no care of the Iron Throne--yet, and then only who sits on it, leave her be. She is going to reclaim her home, the place she once despaired of, dreaming of the sun and songs of the south. She was a Stark of Winterfell, there had always been a Stark at Winterfell, tales Old Nan told if the Starks lost Winterfell for good, the winter would win. Her mother scoffed at the tales, Sansa had as well, but whispers are on the cold wind. Winter is Coming. She was going to see the Spring.

Love is a weapon brought to bear. Love is blood spilled without remorse, and a kiss that’s so sweet they can ignore the taste of copper underneath.

Jonelle’s a bastard, right? So she’ll be at the back of the tent when Robert asks Sansa what happened with Joffrey and Arya and Nymeria. She’ll hear Sansa’s soft, quiet whisper- I didn’t see- and Arya’s scream, she’ll hear Cersei’s sentence, her father’s answer. And Jonelle’s as righteous and angry as Jon ever is, and so she doesn’t hesitate to turn around and leave, to use Robb’s parting gift to her- a sharp-edged Valyrian steel imitation dagger- to smash open Ghost’s and Lady’s chains and chase them away. [In which Jon Snow is Jonelle Snow, and goes south with her sisters.]

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