Aemon’s blind white eyes came open. Egg? he said, as the rain streamed down his cheeks. Egg, I dreamed that I was old.
Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.
Before he had lost his sight, the maester had loved books as much as Samwell Tarly did. He understood the way that you could sometimes fall right into them, as if each page was a hole into another wor...