A Game of Thrones / A Clash of Kings

Like their dragons, the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.

Jaime reached for the flagon to refill his cup. “So many vows . . . they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other.

When at last she slept, she dreamt of home. The kings road wound past Winterfell on it's way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one the wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon...but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.

It’s your gold they love, not your impish wit.

Well, that egg has hatched. Let’s see what color the chick

No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard." Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. "I am not threatening the king, ser, I am educating my nephew. Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth kill him." The dwarf smiled. "Now that was a threat. See the difference?