My father, Lord Eddard Stark, died at the Sept of Baelor 3 years ago. He's dead and gone. Winterfell's his favorite place. I'm gonna build him a brooding park.
You don't have be an honorable man to be a Lord. Roose Bolton is a Lord.
My other good friend, "Reek", was forced to eat my shit out of a bowl again. He's back on the flaying rack for his sixteenth time. Good luck with that one.
Sick of the bullshit. Sick of all this shit. I don't go out anymore, 'cause I hate every motherfucker. I don't care what they're up to. Three years I wasted, munching on lemon cakes in King's Landing, chit-chatting with fucking nobodies. Now I stay in Ramsey's rape room, like a fucking hermit. I'm not gonna take any shit from anyone.
I know what's going on. I got set up. The marriage proposal was not for Lord Petyr. Thank the gods my lady mother wasn't there to watch me get my bloody ass fucked. She would have wound up with a slit throat and probably dumped in the river. She has a big mouth.
I live for this shit. I love it. Bring it the fuck on.
Payback's a bitch, motherfu-WHOAA OH OHH OH OH OHH OHHHHH
DO YOU HEAR THE CALL OF THE LEMON CAKE GOODNESS
LEMON CAKE GOOODNESSSS
