Sweet Tea & Social Justice
Much jollier to be stripped and bedded by a score of lusty, laughing Freys than by a sour, stricken sister.
“It is no disgrace to miss your shot,” her uncle told her quietly. “Edmure should hear that. The day my own lord father went downriver, Hoster missed as well.”
I prayed for my son Bran to survive his fall. Many years before that, one of the boys came down with the pox. Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he’d live, but it would be a very long night. So I sat with him all through the darkness, listening to his ragged little breaths, his coughing and his whimpering.
“I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I’m so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that’s all….a day…..an hour.”
“Why should I make up a story when I know the truth?”
“Because the truth is always either terrible or boring.”
Catelyn Tully, about to marry her dead fiance’s younger brother in the middle of a rebellion.
Family, duty, honor.
