I lack the patience to haunt / Instead, I hunt
"I dance in dangerous fables, walk a woods with trees white as bone. It's always winter and I'm always pressing my face against something warm with blood." - Yasmin Belkhyr, 'Blizzard'.
“Men die,” Barbrey tells her, bone-white with anger, eyes flashing. “Men die, Donella. Should Stark’s boy not sire a son on you, and if the Bastard has the Dreadfort-,”
“You speak as if Robb Stark were in fragile health,” Nell rolls her eyes. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Willam was in excellent health until he rode off to his death at Ned Stark’s side,” Barbrey hisses. “Do you think he did not promise me we would have children and a long life together before he left? Do you think he did not promise to come back to me? You cannot know what the future might bring. My lord husband survived a war only to die in Dorne. Men and their promises are not your safety nor your refuge. Land is. Power is. Never forget that.”
(In which Nell Bolton contends with both her mother's bloodstained legacy and her father's bloodthirsty bastard, and along the way claims a beast for a bridegroom.)