Robb Stark

How am I supposed to sit here planning a war

The Lannisters send their regards.

Call the banners.

The runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow.

I'd rather be dead.

Have you lost your mind?

You are no king of mine.

One victory does not make us conquerors.

I will litter the South with Lannister dead.

- Don't ever say that. - I'd rather be dead.

A sword needs a sheath.

There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to -

Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There's a brothel outside your walls.

stone by stone,

Relax your bow arm.

King Joffrey is a Baratheon, Your Grace.

Be kind.

Farewell, Snow.

- (Whimpers) - Put away your blade.

Tell Lord Tywin Winter is coming for him.

nor Stannis neither.

- They were his kin. - They were boys!

We are kin...

Or should I call him

I must.