A Game of Thrones
His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. "Bet he killed them all himself, he did," Gared told the barracks over wine, "twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior." They had all shared the laugh. (1 Prologue.15)
Arya cocked her head to one side. "Can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?"
"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."
Arya screwed up her face. "No," she said, "that's Sansa." She folded up her right leg and resumed her balancing. Ned sighed and left her there. (26 Eddard 5.52-4)
Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell's birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. […] His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was. But he grew ill at the sight of blood, and wept to see even a chicken slaughtered. (27 Jon 4.82)