You are a lion my son, you mustn’t be afraid. For one day all the beasts will bow to you. You will be king. All the stags will bow, all the wolves will bow, the bears in the North and the foxes of the South, all the birds in the sky and the beasts in the sea. They will all come to you little lion, to rest a crown upon your head.
“And Arya…he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had… yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.”
”Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn’t care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair… ’Jon looks like me, even though he’s bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me ‘little sister.” Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad.”