“Let the kings of winter have their cold crypt under the earth, Catelyn thought.

    “Let the kings of winter have their cold crypt under the earth, Catelyn thought. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course…

    ‘Now,’ her uncle urged. Beside him, her brother Edmure— Lord Edmure now in truth, and how long would that take to grow used to?—nocked an arrow to his bowstring. His squire held a brand to its point. Edmure waited until the flame caught, then lifted the great bow, drew the string to his ear, and let fly. With a deep thrum, the arrow sped upward. Catelyn followed its flight with her eyes and heart, until it plunged into the water with a soft hiss, well astern of Lord Hoster’s boat.

    Edmure cursed sofly. ‘The wind,’ he said, pulling a second arrow. ‘Again.’ The brand kissed the oil-soaked rag behind the arrowhead, the flames went licking up, Edmure lifted, pulled, and released. High and far the arrow flew. Too far.”

                                                -George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

(Recolored) Shroud by: @dravenxivuk

Robb’s CC by: @kellymarie69