No man could truly tame a wolf

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my little soul is fed and happy, just look at my beautiful idiots together in bed! life is sweet, even when it comes like a gothic horror film... ♡♡♡

I love how this applies word to word to Ned and Lyanna, but in a way that subverts expectations. Woman's love: yes but platonic not romantic. Newborn son in arms: yes but he is actually a nephew. Brother's smile: no sister's.

Hi there!

I love the way you think. The quote expands far beyond the moment and echoes across past and future, for many characters.

You can paste it straight onto Ned, trace it painfully over Catelyn and Robb, sprinkle it among the Lannister siblings, lace it through Dany's braids, and return it wholesale to Jon and his own choices and longings.

Another thing that I love about this quote is how wrong Aemon is, and how you can turn this quote around on itself. He indicts love as the enemy of duty and honor, as a destroyer of these pure motivations, am inhibitor of effective necessary action.

But, say, what motivation is empty honor, compared to love? What motivation is cold duty compared to love?

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do. (ASOS, Jon II)

Those purple eyes grew huge then, and the royal mouth drooped open in shock. He lost control of his bowels, turned, and ran for the Iron Throne. Beneath the empty eyes of the skulls on the walls, Jaime hauled the last dragonking bodily off the steps, squealing like a pig and smelling like a privy. A single slash across his throat was all it took to end it. So easy, he remembered thinking. A king should die harder than this. Rossart at least had tried to make a fight of it, though if truth be told he fought like an alchemist. Queer that they never ask who killed Rossart … but of course, he was no one, lowborn, Hand for a fortnight, just another mad fancy of the Mad King.  (ASOS, Jaime II)

Lickspittle. If truth be told, Jaime had come to rue heaving Brandon Stark out that window. Cersei had given him no end of grief afterward, when the boy refused to die. “He was seven, Jaime,” she’d berated him. “Even if he understood what he saw, we should have been able to frighten him into silence.” (ASOS, Jaime I)

and

“A man who would violate his own sister, murder his king, and fling an innocent child to his death deserves no other name.” (ASOS, I)

and

“Does the sight of my stump distress you so?” Jaime asked. “You ought to be pleased. I’ve lost the hand I killed the king with. The hand that flung the Stark boy from that tower. The hand I’d slide between my sister’s thighs to make her wet.” He thrust his stump at her face. “No wonder Renly died, with you guarding him.” (ASOS, Jaime V)

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk. The Night’s Watch took no part in the quarrels of the realm; some would say he had already given Stannis too much help. Behead this fool, and they will claim I am killing northmen to give their lands to wildlings. Release him, and he will do his best to rip apart all I’ve done with Lady Alys and the Magnar. Jon wondered what his father would do, how his uncle might deal with this. But Eddard Stark was dead, Benjen Stark lost in the frozen wilds beyond the Wall. You know nothing, Jon Snow. (ADWD, Jon X)

he writes the father/uncle thing (and apparently the Bran/king thing) kinda like an appositive:

Martin: Targaryen tool of dominion, oppression and corruption is a monstruous and hideous throne made of their conquered foes blades.