Argella Durrandon/Orys Baratheon + "Your father's lands are beautiful."
"Your father's lands are beautiful," Prince Rhaegar had said, standing right where Jon was standing now. And the boy he'd been had replied, "One day they will all be mine."
(A Dance with Dragons)
"Your father's lands are beautiful."
Oh what mockery. How dare he? She turns her face away.
"Your land now, my lord. Your king's decree made it so."
"Yours, too, my lady. And our son's, when he is born."
A wife is not a ruler. The Lady of Storm's End is no Storm Queen. Even your sweet words and gentle caress will not make it so, my lord. Even the child growing in her belly would not make it so.
"What will you tell him, our son?"
"About?"
"His grandfather."
"That the last Storm King died bravely and honorably. That there was no shame or dishonor in his defeat."
Will you not show him the sword that killed my father? The sword given to you by your own father.
"And what about his other grandfather?"
"There is no other. Not one he could claim in the eyes of the world."
Don't, she thinks. Do not make me think of you as flesh and blood. Wanting and needing, yearning and desperate, just like any other.
"A child needs to know the history of his people."
"And our children will know. We'll tell them about Durran Godsgrief and Elenei, and how they defied the gods for the sake of love."
She laughs. "My lord, you would do well not to put too much faith in songs and legends."
"Was it not love, then?"
"Lust, more likely. Or an illusion to justify themselves."
"An illusion?"
"Once so many have died and so much blood has been shed for the two of them to be together, what else could they call it but love? Anything else would have left them vulnerable to the scorn of the world. But call it love, pretend that it is so; then all is forgiven and you're immortalized in songs and stories."
"And what will they say about us, in these songs and stories?"
"'They lived happily ever after,' I expect. Or some foolish nonsense of that sort."
"And what would you have said, my lady, were you the one writing these songs and stories?"
"'They lived, for a time, and then they died.'"
He smiles. "Well, that is an improvement of sort."
"An improvement?"
"Before we were married, I was quite certain you would have said, 'And they lived unhappily ever after.'"
Rhaelle Targaryen/Ormund Baratheon + "Love is supposed to dignify us."
Love is supposed to dignify us, exult us. How can it be love, John, if all it does is make you lonely and corrupt?"
(Alice Morgan in Luther 1x01)
"Love is supposed to dignify us. How can it be love, when all it does is make liars and betrayers of my brothers and sister?"
"You kept your word and your father's promise. You, alone, among your siblings. How much joy have you had of that, Rhaelle?"
"How much joy have you had of your father's vengeance, Ormund?"
"How much joy have you had of our union, my princess?"
"We make our own happiness, my sister told me."
"Pity she did not tell you that before our wedding."
"Oh, but she did. Run, Shaera whispered. It's not too late, she said."
"Why didn't you?"
"Where would I have gone? Shaera had her Jaehaerys. I had no one."
"You had me. You have me still."
"I wanted that, once. When I was a foolish girl dreaming of her father's brave squire. Before Duncan's great love made a mockery of everything, poisoned what once could have been."
"You can want it again."
"And risk another crushing disappointment, another devastation? Love is supposed to dignify us. How can it be love, when all it does is strip us bare of our defenses?"
"How can there be love, unless we're willing to be stripped to the bone, unless we're willing to be truly known, to the other?"
Love is supposed to dignify us, she thought. How could it be love, when all it did was leave her with the bones and silence of the one who had known her best?
Ormund Baratheon & Steffon Baratheon + "There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it."
"A brother of the Night's Watch shouldn't be so scared."
"We're all scared. We'd be fools if we weren't." […] "There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it."
(A Clash of Kings)
His son would not meet his gaze. "What if I disgrace myself in battle? What if I disgrace you, Father, and bring shame to the honor of our House?"
"You will not."
"But how do you know? How can you know the future? How can anyone? It's not possible."
The Targaryen blood in Steffon had not conferred to him the dream of dragons or the belief in prophecies, and for that Ormund thanked the gods sincerely.
"I may not know the future, but you are my son, Steffon, and I know you."
"I'm … I'm not as brave as Tywin, or even Aerys. Aerys is impatient for the battle to begin. Tywin sits and confers with battle-hardened knights and lords, and he is as comfortable in their company as he is in our company,Aerys and myself."
"He has to be. Tywin is a knight himself now, a man grown at eighteen."
"I wish I am not afraid."
"There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it. We must not allow fear to make cowards and cravens of us. Fear is something to be conquered, not dreaded."
"I never thought the Laughing Storm would ever have been afraid of anything," replied Steffon, in amazement. The greatest fighter of his day, Lyonel Baratheon had been dubbed. Songs were still sung and tales were still spread far and wide in the Stormlands about his prowess in battle, about his booming laughter mocking his opponents at every joust in every tourney; the latter, pure exaggeration for the sake of art, of course.
"He laughed at some opponents to put fear in their hearts in tourneys and in mock battles, but never in real battles," Ormund said. Men are not afraid of mere laughter or mockery when death is staring them in the face, Lyonel Baratheon had told his son.
"Was your father afraid, before he faced Lord Commander Duncan in single combat?"
"It would not surprise me if he was. He was not angry with Ser Duncan, however, which did surprise me. I had thought he would be furious with Ser Duncan, since he had fought on Ser Duncan's behalf in the trial of seven at Ashford, had come to Ser Duncan's aid when most other knights in the realm had flatly refused to do so. But my father said Ser Duncan was only doing his duty as a knight of the Kingsguard, and he was not the one who deserved the blame. It was someone else my father reserved his fury for."
"Grandfather Aegon?"
Ormund nodded. "My father thought King Aegon should have been able to control his own son, should have forced Prince Duncan to set aside his supposed marriage. 'Young men are often foolish,' my father said, 'there is nothing strange or new under the sun about that. I was a willful, stubborn lad myself in my younger years, before my own father knocked the foolishness out of me. It is the duty of every father to set his children straight, to drag them back to the right path, kicking and screaming if need be. The king fails in that duty.'"
A willful, stubborn old fool in the thrall of his pride and his fury, some had called Lyonel Baratheon, when he renounced his allegiance to the Iron Throne and declared himself the Storm King. He fancies himself Argilac the Arrogant come again, others derided, and look what became of the last Storm King.
What would Lyonel Baratheon think now, his son and grandson fighting for a Targaryen king, under the Targaryen banner? His son leading the Targaryen army, in fact. Ormund dared not wonder, dared not contemplate the answer too deeply.
"What does it matter? Why should it matter what he might think, how he might judge you?" Rhaelle had said in her blunt, no-nonsense tone before Ormund departed for the Stepstones. "They are all dead; your father, my father, even SerDuncan. And you are a better man than your father had ever been, even if you doubt it yourself."
"I'll keep him safe, our son," he had promised his wife.
"And who will keep you safe?" she had asked, her hands caressing his face.
Mellario of Norvos + "Your [mother] married for love, it's said. How much joy has [she] had of that?"
"What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it's said. How much joy has he had of that?"
(A Dance with Dragons)
Love - or that pale reflection passing for it - does not end as swiftly and as irrevocably as she wishes it does.
He writes to her in Norvos, careful letters with careful words.
She replies with her own careful words, devoid of the anger still burning in her breast.
"Let me have my son. Let me have Trystane," she always adds. Arianne belongs to Dorne and Quentyn to the Yronwoods, as he keeps telling her, but Trys, Trys is still his to give. To give to her, to Trys' mother.
"Trystane is a prince of Dorne," he always replies.
He writes to her about the children frolicking in the Water Gardens, new ones in every letter.
All she wants to remember is the green-haired Tyroshi girl, the one who was supposed to take Arianne's place.
And yet her treacherous, weak-willed heart also remembers the first time he took her to the Water Gardens; her gasp of astonishment, the look of delight on his face hearing that. Everything had seemed so magical, back then. He was her deliverance and her escape, as she was his.
She loved that feeling; she loved being the very few who could bring a smile to his solemn face.
They dipped their feet in the water in one of the shallower pools one night under the moonlight, when she was carrying their first child in her belly.
"What if it is a girl?"
"Then she will be the Princess of Dorne, ruling all of Dorne after her father."
"And nothing will take that away from her?"
"Nothing."
"Not even if I die and you wed another, and a son is born to this woman?"
"Hush. You will not die."
"Promise me that nothing will take that away from our daughter."
"I promise."
His words were gold to the ear of a woman who had long been her father's heiress, until she was unceremoniously displaced by a stepbrother delivered by a stepmother only a few years older than she was.
"You should have told me about Quentyn. You should have told me about the blood debt before we were wed. No, you should have told me before I accepted your proposal!"
It must be the place, hot and dry. It must be the food, strange and spicy. It must be the custom, the people, the -
Yet she could have endured all that, if he had turned out to be who she thought he was.
Who was that, truly? What did she really know of this solemn prince from the distant land who shone so brightly in red-and-gold?
He is honest, she once thought. He does not dissemble or flatter falsely.
He does not lie, not outright, not blatantly, but he hides behind his careful words. Words are like arrows. Once released, they cannot be taken back.
"You would return to Norvos? To your father's home? Where she still lives, your stepmother?"
"Better my stepmother than this torment." Than this life with him.
She will be known as the mother who abandons her children. But she knows she has to leave, when what is first meant as a threat to frighten him, to prevent him from sending another one of their children away, turns into an act she actually wishes to commit.
She knows she really has to leave, when she imagines plunging that dagger into his chest before thrusting it into her own.
Better a mother who leaves, but still lives, than a mother who leaves her children orphans, fatherless and motherless.
He relents, about sending Arianne away, but she knows there is still something, something he is holding back from her.
"Why? Why did you want to send her to Tyrosh in the first place? Is there another blood debt you have not told me about? Oberyn again? Or is it Elia this time? Must our children be used to pay, again and again, for the sake of your siblings?"
He closes his eyes. He looks pained. She is tired of him looking pained.
Lysa Tully + "You have been disappointing me for years, Father."
Prince Doran sighed. "You disappoint me, Arianne." "Said the crow to the raven. You have been disappointing me for years, Father."
(A Feast for Crows)
She was calm. She was not trembling, as she usually was in her father's presence. "I love him," she declared, head held high.
"Are you a complete and utter fool?! He took advantage of you. He used you."
Her father's roar shook her. Digging her nails into her palm to stop the trembling, Lysa replied, "I went to him. Willingly."
Cat, Petyr had called out. Dearest Cat. Cat. Always Cat. But Lysa didn't care. She had been the one in his bed, not Catelyn.
"He is nothing! That ungrateful boy, thinking to raise himself by –"
"He loves me too," she insisted. He did. She knew he did. She had made him forget Cat. Lysa, she had whispered in his ear. Drunken or asleep, he could still hear her, she was convinced of it. Lysa. Lysa. Lysa. Only Lysa.
Only one, Petyr. Only me.
She knew that look on her father's face, the one that cut her to the bones more sharply than his anger. He sighed. "You disappoint me, Lysa. My daughters should know their own worth. A daughter of House Tully is not for the likes of Petyr Baelish."
You have been disappointing me for years, Father. He never loved her the way he loved Cat. Will you wait for me, little Cat? he would say, every time he rode off from the castle. Your lady mother would have been proud to see how well you have grown, dearest Cat.
Dearest Cat. Cat. Always Cat. Never Lysa.
"You would have forgiven Catelyn this."
"Your sister would never have been this foolish, this reckless. Cat is always mindful of her duty. What were you thinking?"
Someone for me. Someone just for me, Father. Someone to love me. Only me.
"It is done now," she said, defiantly. "You have no choice except to agree to the wedding. No one else will have me, Father, not with Petyr's child growing in my womb."
"Lysa," he called out, his voice breaking. "Lysa. What have you done?"
Tytos Lannister & Tywin Lannister + "You have been disappointing me for years, Father."
His son speaks, and it is his father's sharp, scolding voice Tytos hears.
His son stares, and it is his father's piercing, penetrating gaze Tytos sees.
Who are you? What are you? Are you a ghost here to punish me, to haunt me to my death? This son of his, this fruit of his loins, his firstborn. Gerold the Golden come again, here to lecture Tytos on all the ways he has fallen far, far short of expectation. Here to deride him, to ridicule him, to diminish him in the eyes of the world.
You made yourself a figure of ridicule. Wrong, wrong, wrong. No, no, no. You should not have done that. You should have done this instead. Why are you such a fool? Why are you so lacking in sense? Why are you so insecure, so eager to please no matter the cost? Why are you so weak? Why are you not like your brothers? Why, why, why?
Why are you not like your father?
Why are you not like your son?
Why are you such a disappointment?
"Pray gods your heir will be a sturdier creature with more sense than his lord father."
You cursed me, Father. How could you?
Oh how he pitied himself! What a fate, to be smothered and suffocated between these two. The mighty Tywin Lannister. Like the high and mighty Gerold Lannister.
I know your secret, Father. I know what you did, long ago, to make us lords of Casterly Rock.
You have been disappointing me for years, Father.
Tytos had never said it. He was too terrified of his lord father's wrath to ever say those words aloud.
Say it. I know you've always wanted to. Say it, he dares his firstborn, but only silently, only in his head. He is too afraid of his own son to really dare him to do anything.
You have been disappointing me for years, Father.
Tywin would never say it. He thinks himself above saying it, as if it is already obvious to everyone how much of a disappointment his father has been.
Davos Seaworth + "Those who are made can be unmade."
His eyes glitter. 'But do not threaten me, good madam. I find it uncomfortable.' She snaps, 'Your comfort is not my concern. You must study your advantage, Master Secretary. Those who are made can be unmade.'
(Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel)
"Lord of the Rainwood, Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and Hand of the King. You have indeed risen high, Ser Davos, from your lowly and criminal beginning. Oh forgive me, Lord Davos," Axell Florent said, with a smirk. Davos knew the smirk hid a boiling fury, for Ser Axell thought himself the only one worthy to be Stannis' new Hand.
"His Grace has honored me with his trust," Davos replied, simply.
The smirk disappeared. Red-faced, Axell snarled, "You will not stay long in your position, upjumped smuggler."
"Do not threaten me, ser. Smugglers, even former ones, do not take too kindly to threats, veiled or otherwise."
"It is not a threat. It is the future. I see it in the flames. Lady Melisandre taught us the special few how to read the secrets of the flames."
"Did the flames show you that it was the Lady Melisandre herself who counseled King Stannis to send for me, to hear me out, after you told His Grace to sacrifice me to R'hllor?"
"You lie! Why would she do that? She has no love for you, nor you for her. You tried to kill her, traitor."
"Those were King Stannis' own words. Are you calling your king a liar, ser?"
"One of these days your tongue will be your undoing, depend on it. Do not think yourself so high and mighty, smuggler. Your lordship is a sham, your land is a sham, even your House is a sham."
"They were granted to me by King Stannis. Are you calling your king's gift a sham, ser?"
"Everything you have is given to you by Stannis Baratheon, and they could all just as easily be taken away, if you displease him, if you raise his ire, if he wills it. You are nothing without him. He made you, and those who are made can be unmade, easily. "
"King Stannis made you the castellan of Dragonstone, Ser Axell, and he could just as easily unmake you, too."
"But even if that happens, I will still be Axell of House Florent. And unlike House Seaworth, House Florent does not exist on the sufferance of Stannis Baratheon." That had been Axell Florent's parting shot, delivered with unsuppressed satisfaction.
Those who are made can be unmade. Axell Florent had been saying it as if it was news to Davos. Davos had been aware of that from the very beginning, from the moment Stannis touched his sword on Davos' shoulder to knight him. Stannis' old sword, the one given to him by his lord father, not Lightbringer.
Honesty, loyalty, service, those were the things Stannis had demanded from Davos, from the beginning. Honesty first of all. "I will have no falsehood from you, ser. If you think to curry favor with me by dissembling, by hiding the truth, by speaking only the words that you think might please me, then you are gravely mistaken."
"If you take me to be the sort of man who would resort to those falsehoods, sire, would you have knighted me and made me your man in the first place?"