"My father was the North," Robb declared. "And though they took his head, they could not take his spirit. It lives in every gust of wind, every frozen stream, and every man who stands here tonight."
"The southrons play their games with gold and whispers," Robb said, his voice carrying over the courtyard, silencing the clatter of steel. "They believe a crown makes a King. But we know the truth. Honor isn't a word spoken in a court; it’s the blood we spill for our own." He drew his sword, the steel singing a high, mournful note. "Game of Thrones" The North Remembers(2012)
Behind him, Greatjon Umber stepped forward, his voice a low rumble that rivaled the wind. "The Lannisters sit on a throne of lies, boy. They’ve forgotten what lies beyond the Neck. They’ve forgotten the weight of a Northern blade." "My father was the North," Robb declared
The cold was not just a season; it was a living thing, a sharp-toothed beast that prowled the battlements of Winterfell. In the courtyard, the air tasted of iron and ancient snow. "They believe a crown makes a King