“What will you do when he crosses?” “Fight. Kill. Die, maybe.” “Aren’t you afraid? The gods might send you… — George RR Martin
“What will you do when he crosses?”
“Fight. Kill. Die, maybe.”
“Aren’t you afraid? The gods might send you down to some terrible hell for all the evil you've done.”
“What evil?” He laughed. “What gods?”
“The gods who made us all.”
“All?” he mocked. “Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda’s daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with.”
“True knights protect the weak.”
He snorted. “There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.”
Sansa backed away from him. “You're awful.”
“I'm honest. It’s the world that’s awful.”
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More from this book
You should have learned by now, none of us get the things we want.
He should thank the gods that Ser Rodrik was not ironborn. The men of the green lands were made of softer stuff, though he was not certain they would prove soft enough.
Knights may keep their truces when dealing with other knights, but they are not so careful of their honor when dealing with those whom they deem outlaw.
