We Dornish are a hot-blooded people, quick to anger and slow to forgive.
Few of the birds that Aemon had sent off had returned as yet. One reached Stannis, though. One found Dragonstone, and a king who still cared. A thousand leagues south, Sam knew, his father had joined House Tarly to the cause of the boy on the Iron Throne, but neither King Joffrey nor little King Tommen had bestirred himself when the Watch cried out for help. What good is a king who will not defend his realm?
Since the time he could walk, his left arm had been his shield arm, no more.
this is stannis baratheon
And the more we bleed each other, the weaker we shall all be when the real enemy falls upon us.
The Great Masters had used the pit as a prison. It was large enough to hold five hundred men… and more than ample for two dragons. For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow wan and weak, with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end? What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?
All I have done is speak the truth. Are men so fragile they cannot bear to hear it? She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.
"Dry those tears, little one. Have you ever seen a lion weep?”