In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it,' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it,' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the Gods.' 'Do it,' says the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me—who lives and who dies? Power resides where men believe it resides.
“Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”
“I know she is proud. How not? What is left to her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenaerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, tro the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet”
if you don’t believe me, then just look into my eyes. ‘cause the heart never lies
He misses his sister, because she used to be all his, and even though he treated her very badly, she looked up to him, and he was everything to her. He is her mother and father and brother all in one, and they would have been married in original Targaryen history.
She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie.