Tyrion
Tyrion awoke needing to piss.
As he stood, he said to his traveling companion, "I wish I had a maid's mouth around my cock." The hardman across from him did not answer, looking only at the dwarf through half-closed eyes.
Tyrion continued. "What I am saying is sarcastic, clever enough to be ingratiating but not quite so snide as to make you turn against me." The surly man across his him still said nothing, his eyes narrowing further.
Tyrion pissed.
Hodor
Hodor Hodor was hodored into hodor hodor, hodor of which the Hodors hodored, the Hodors hodor, hodor who in hodor hodor hodor were hodor Hodor, in hodor Hodors, the hodor.
"Hodor!" quoth Hodor.
All hodor hodored from hodor hodor in hodor, hodors and hodors. The hodor Hodor hodored the Hodors from the Hodors; the Hodor and the Hodor hodored them from the Hodors.
"Timmy!"
Lysa
The screaming did nothing to help, except to irritate her throat, so eventually Lysa Arryn grew silent. It was a long fall. It seemed as though she had been falling for six years. The Lady of the Vale could no longer in good conscience call this "flying." It was clearly falling, now that it was happening to her.
She could not believe that her newly wedded lord husband Petyr Baelish would defenestrate her from a skycell so unceremoniously. "Little prick," she muttered, but the words were ripped from her mouth by the cold fingers of the diminishing sky.
She was unable to appreciate the beautiful view as she tumbled, sight of the narrow sea now hidden behind the southeastern mountains of the vale. Below her, rocky outcroppings narrowed and gave way to alluvial fans, with a river not far to the side. She caught glimpses of the bones and armor of men she and her predecessors had sent flying through the moon door. Several skulls were facing her, watching as she approached; a few arms propped toward her in welcome. She hardly had time to consider the meaning of this before there was a brief moment of pain, and blackness engulfed her.