I had rather take his hand than take his sword. I have to hope that--

Already I see reason to go on hoping. You saw-- his Starks. Humans! Mortal men, and it was his hand that reached out to them. My brother.

( somehow, she sounds so terribly, terribly sad. )

I don't know them, you know. I'd spoken only to Robb, before that day. But my brother nursed a hatred in his heart that quickened his sword and spilled our father's blood, a hatred he would have unleashed in the form of an end of days such as your kind cannot imagine--

And he took my hand and offered ours both in friendship.

( it's like a talisman, his kindness to the starks. )