"Your Grace," said Whitebeard, "the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but . . . "
"Go on," she urged. "You may speak freely to me."
"As you command." The old man leaned upon his hardwood staff, his brow furrowed. "A warrior without peer . . . those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles."
"Swords win battles," Ser Jorah said bluntly. "And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one."
"He did, ser, but . . . I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory." He glanced