Afterward he mixed her a draught of dreamwine, with some honey so it might go down easier. “Sleep a bit, child. When you wake, all this will seem a bad dream.”
No it won’t, you stupid man, Sansa thought, but she drank the dreamwine anyway, and slept.
Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly.
“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.”