GeorgeR.R.Martin

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance.

How many cups have you had, Jon?”

Jon smiled.

“I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother.

“You are your mother’s trueborn son of Lannister.”

“Am I?” the dwarf replied, sardonic. “Do tell my lord father.

Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

“Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said.

Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment.

Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her.

Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn.