How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king?

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile.

"Are you saying you are monsters?"
"I am saying we are human. You are not the only one with wounds, Lady Brienne. Some of my brothers were good men when this began. Some were... less good, shall we say? Though there are those who say it does not matter how a man begins, but only how he ends. I suppose it is the same for women."