Kit Harington by Terry Richardson

Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.

There were prayers and vows and singing, and tall candles burning, a hundred dancing lights that the tears in her eyes transformed into a thousand.

They arrived, flushed and breathless to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. Ghost, already larger than his litter mates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled back down.

Jon gave her a curious look. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?” 

Arya made a face at him. “I wanted to see them fight.” 

He smiled. “Come here, then.”

sam the slayer

Free Cities ➻ fake book of the houses