We do not sow. We are ironborn. We're not subjects. We're not slaves. We do not plow the fields or toil the mine. We take what is ours
No man has ever died from bending his knee. He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand. He who will not kneel stays dead, stiff legs and all
No one loved him. No one wanted to follow him. He led us into two wars we couldn't win. I apologize to you all for not killing him years ago
What kind of an Ironborn loses his senses during a storm?