First italic: Arabesque, Marin Marais (youtube watch?v=cAqyerTP96Q) Second Italic: My Featherbed, GRRM
Third Italic: Flower Duet, Delibes (youtube watch?v=Vf42IP_ipw) (I think it might be better to listen to Arabesque while reading)
"I am Electra! Come! — the voice of her Whose lost, belovèd knees we kissed so long ago.
"I find serenity in loneliness these days, Meera, I crave peace in this time of year, when the snow melts and the peaceful rains knock at my windows. Please, tell Bran I will not attend today's council meeting: I shall not be disturbed unless someone's life is in danger. In great danger."
"Alistar, could you play "Arabesque"? Not too loud, not too fast."
I had lied. I had kept with me Alistar, my viola player. He would play for me all day long, without a word or a complaint. Without asking why I would stay behind closed doors for hours, staring at my window, lying on my bed.
He stays away from me, looking at his instrument, and his instrument only.
It is forbidden to watch the Warden of the North crying.
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves
It was raining as well the day I arrived. Storms and rains, and mud sticking to my shoes, and Winterfell in ruins. I remember Wyman Manderly, and his family, bowing in front of us. They had given us our title back. Warden of the North. I shall rule with my eleven year-old brother, in harmony.
I did not raise an army, I did not lead men in the battlefield. No. It was them. They gave us power, and we seized it. And today, like yesterday, like tomorrow and like every other day of my miserable life, I wonder why. What make us worthy of this twisted title? I rule them for my brother, but who will do it for me? When will they realize that I am nothing more but lifeless flesh, waiting in vain for a rest that will never come?
I longed for Winterfell, Bran and Arya. But it was not enough.
They believe we have power. But we do not. We never had it, not me, not my parents, not anyone. They could rebel against us, but fear is holding them back. They do not dread us. They dread chaos.
They respect us because we are better than another one.
Or at least they hope.
I know nothing of them, we live beyond walls of stone, far from those we know nothing about. We choose to believe they are no longer human beings, but a shapeless crowd, denied of names, age or sex, to serve and to be served, blindly.
Under the thick dome where the white jasmine With the roses entwined together On the river bank covered with flowers laughing in the morning Let us descend together!
How weary I am of this foolish game we play! Make it end, make it end, make it end… I would leave them all if I could, to join the deep Northern forests and live with nothing but the noise of howling winds and cracking earth. Peace at last!
But I shall sleep now, trying to forget this shallow life and those shallow tears.