— Do you like it Nana?
— Another golden rose. How original. I eat from plates stamped with roses. I sleep in sheets embroidered with roses. I have a golden rose painted on my chamber pot, as if that makes it smell any better. Roses are boring, dear. "Growing strong.“ The dullest words of any house. "Winter is coming!" Now that's memorable. "We do not sow." Strong Strong. Those are houses you watch out for. Direwolwes and krakens, fierce beasts. But a golden rose growing strong, that strikes fear in the heart.
I choose my allies carefully, and my enemies more carefully still.
But he would see this country burn if he could be king of the ashes.
But influence is largely a matter of patience, I have found. Once I had served the sorcerer's purpose, he threw me out of his house to die. I resolved to live to spite him. I begged. I sold what pans of my body remained to me. I became an excellent thief, and soon learned that the contents of a man's letters are more valuable than the contents of ms purse Step by step. one distasteful task after another, I made my way from the shims of Myr to the Small Council chamber Influence grows like a weed. I tended mine patiently until its tendrils reached from the Red Keep all the way across to the far side of the world, where I managed to wrap them around something very special.
— What are you doing?
— I'm dying.
— You can't die. You need to live to take revenge.
— I don't care about revenge.
— You coward. A little misfortune and you're giving up.
— Misfor... Misfortune?
— You lost your hand.
— My sword hand I was that hand.
— You have a taste, one taste of the real world where people have important things taken from them, and you whine and cry and quit.
What happens when the nonexistent bumps against the decrepit?
— If Robb Stark falls, Sansa Stark is the key to the North.
— And if he marries her, he'll have the key in his pocket.