The Iron Throne

Run.

discreets:

Look with your eyes, he had said. She saw: the knight in his pale armor head to foot, legs, throat, and hands sheathed in metal, eyes hidden behind his high white helm, and in his hand cruel steel. Against that: Syrio, in a leather vest, with a wooden sword in his hand. “Syrio, run,” she screamed.

“The first sword of Braavos does not run,” he sang as Ser Meryn slashed at him.

vasymollo:

Tell Lord Tywin, winter is coming for him. Twenty thousand northerners marching south to find out if he really does shit gold.

Game of Thrones 1.08, The Pointy End

Sansa: What is it? What’s happening?
Septa Mordane: Do as I told you. Run! 

Syrio Forel: What do we say to the God of Death?
Arya: Not today.
Syrio Forel: Go.