also: i am completely against the show’s version of loras, that loras would sleep with any men as long as they’re pretty, because in the book, loras was – still is – completely in love with renly.

remember that talk he had with jaime?

“once the sun has set, no candle can replace it”

okaaay, here’s some bwb with tom sevenstrings being awesome~

The party of entertainers arrived at the door of the Frey’s castle on foot, except for a carriage with two black horses at the end of the line. Roose and Ramsay Bolton sat at the top of the dais, near the throne where the old Walder sat, along with his Northmen of two thousand and half Lannister’s army with it. They watch as the singer, Tom Sevenstrings, settled himself comfortably at the bottom of the stairs, and the entertainers clad in black-and-white positioned themselves on each and every corner of the room.

Horse, black as a night, paddled in with careful steps. On top of it perched a woman clad in black - the only one who is clad in black - carrying a sleek black harp in her arms like one would a child. Sevenstrings whistled a loud tune, fingers splaying across the strings of his guitar, and the show began.

“Once upon a time, there was a king, there was a king! His name was Robert Baratheon, and he warred for love!” sang Sevenstrings sweetly, silky-sweet, as a blue-eyed boy with ink-black haired stepped forward in late king Robert’s armour. “He had a hammer, oh that he did, and with it he struck justice against the Mad King and lost his woman to another.”

A tall slender woman in crystal silk gown and wild dark hair danced her way into the man’s personal space, then, and soon came another man - this time with lifeless silver hair, blue eyes instead of Targaryen’s purple - taking her away.

“The King then married a woman - the most beautiful woman, in all of Westeros, during her time at least,” a couple of the guards laughed at the teasing tone in Sevenstrings’ voice. “She was a proud, golden lion; so proud that she fucked her own flesh and blood, and gave birth to an abomination who starved the city empty!” he continued, still in that sweet tone of his - and in their drunken stupor, the guards continued to laugh.

During the song, a handful of people had joined the show; a tall man with bright yellow-cloak that seemed to be Jaime Lannister was making obscene noises with another, younger woman that looked nothing alike, but was beautiful despite the fake-blonde hair; and a child with golden crown nestled upon his head waddled by in a mocking gesture.

“The King’s Queen was called ‘The Bitch Queen’ even now, and she is beautiful as she is rotten; killing her own husband and the acting Hand of the King; declaring war against everyone and does not care for anything other than power.” The Bitch Queen of the parade danced gracefully on the floor, slashing throats with the fake-sword, while the woman in blue crept closer toward the throne of the Boltons. “A handful of people that had been sent for justice were branded as outlaws, and they served for no one but the corpse of a dead king.

“The outlaws ran and hid and fought, protected what was left of the kingdom, while the Bitch Queen and its demon spawn abused their power and remained ignorance.” At this point, some of the guards had regained sobriety. Neither Roose nor Ramsay looked amused at the display no more. “But then, let us skip to the better part of this story, shall we? Where the Krakens were tearing apart, the late king’s brothers fighting for the thrones, and a little pup out of the litter, who wanted nothing but justice and freedom from the wronged that’s been done to his father.”

More people started joining in the dance. The music’s gone merrier, the dancers more excited. A man carrying a bow and arrow joined in the dance, and there was a crest of House Greyjoy’s Kraken stamped to his left chest. “The King of Kraken fell to his death, a natural cause, they say, they say; while the late king’s brother, younger and more beautiful, died struck by a shadow, they say, they say.

“We don’t believe in myths and rumours of black magic, because we are, after all, only a bunch of entertainers dressed in silly clothing!” some of the auditions laughed, while the rest remained silent; eying the proceeding with clenched jaw and trembling hands near the hilt of their swords. “But we do believe in justice! And we say that the most injustice of them all, is the death of the Northern King…”

Suddenly, the music stopped. Every single musical instrument in the room was put away, and the woman on top of the black horse did not move even as the horse marched forward. “We are a bunch of entertainers,” Tom Sevenstrings sings. “But we know the way of combat, and we know the way of war, and what happened to us all,” he sand and sand and sang and sang, and lightning-quick, the soldiers began screaming.

Ramsay Bolton drew his sword out just as the woman in blue slit his father’s throat before cutting the sword-wielding hand with a flick of her wrist. “There was a little girl who just wanted her home,” sang the girl softly, beautifully; high-pitched and controlled, like she has practised for too many nights and too many days. “But there was a boy who took it from her; he burned everything down and helped in her mother’s murder and killed her brother and sewn the head of his direwolf atop his neck.”

The room grew quiet as Ramsay Bolton fell to his knees, the woman straddling his waist. “Don’t you know of the Braavosi”s poison, my lord?” she asked him. “They were not as subtle as the poison King Robert’s squire used, but it always does its job well.” Her dagger was pressed to his throat. “Do you know of ‘The Hunt of King Robert’s Bastards’? Cersei Lannister was the one who commanded the order, was it not? Or what about Theon Greyjoy’s disappearance?”

When he did not answer, the girl smiled. “Have you heard of ‘The Cries of Arya Stark’? It was said that her cries could reach the Fist of the Firstmen, when you were with her. But then again; she was not Arya Stark, was she? Just some innocent little girl dressed like her, and you took her and tortured her all the same.” She leaned closer, like a kiss, and Tom Sevenstrings’ voice is a sweet lullaby compared to the pained frightened cries of the soldiers surrounding the castle.

“Tell me, My Lord; was raping her feel sweeter than sewing the direwolf’s head on Robb Stark’s neck? Was her cries of pain sounded much better than Lady Catelyn Stark’s, as you slit her throat and stripped her of clothing and threw her body into a river?” The blade pressed closer, with prickled of Roose Bolton’s blood merging with his, and Ramsay’s lips twisted into a terrible grin. “Not as sweet as the time I drove my knife into your half-brother’s heart,” he said, a lie she did not know about, and Arya Stark moved her dagger into his stomach instead; above where his liver was located, then stabbed him over and over again in several different places away from the heart, away from his throat.

Thoros of Myr placed a hand on her back, as Beardless Dick and Anguy recovered Roose Bolton’s corpse, and Harwin advanced toward the paralysed Old Walder with Lady Stoneheart in his arms.

“Lady Stark wanted her revenge,” Harwin told him. “And you will give it to her.” He held her shaking hand in his and drove the dagger between the Old Walder’s eyes.

When it was done, Edric Dayne accidentally punched the side of Gendry’s jaw, which earned a violent kiss in return, and Likely Luke was forced to separate them before they could see more than they’d like. Notch stripped off his Greyjoy armour while Jack-Be-Lucky  tried to stop Sevenstrings’ singing.

“Come,” Lady Stoneheart said, pulling her dagger out of Lord Walder’s bloody socket. “We still have two Lannisters to finish.” And with that, they nodded, and burned The Twins down to ashes.

“We should get them paired together,” says Harwin. “A little bit of sword-fighting wouldn’t hurt now would it?”

Jack-Be-Lucky makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, humming something unintelligent - a song, or another - while he helps the orphaned boys with their clothes. Young Jeyne Heddle struggles with her cooking. Beardless Dick, Ned, and Gendry are nowhere to be found.

Anguy snorts loud enough to be heard throughout the entire room. “Right, remember that time when Ned tried to chop Gendry’s head off with a wooden stick? Or that time he strangled him and nearly succeeded? Ah, also, remember that time when Gendry wrestled them into the ground and alerted the entire fucking Lannister army?”

Harwin flinches, deflating. Lem Lemoncloak pats his shoulders comfortingly, although from where Anguy is standing, it looks more like Lem is comforting a pet dog rather than a friend. He keeps his mouth shut about it, for once.

“How about shoving a gag into their mouths? It should keep them quiet until we are out of sight, at least.” Notch swipes the tip of his arrow clean with a spared cloth and does not take his attention off his arrows as he speaks.

Likely Luke shakes his head. “Pretty sure they are capable of throwing the gags off themselves,” he says. “I’d say we put them to sleep, tied ‘em to their horses, as we ride.” Anguy makes a face. “Gendry would bitch at you after, and Ned - sweet little kid would probably shove snakes into your shoes if you do, so no, that’s out of the picture.”

“We can always lock them up?” Lem offers, rising his hand expectantly. “Small bedroom, or a wardrobe. Tell ‘em we can’t get them out, for reasons, and let them talk in a civilised manner.”

Notch looks skeptic. “You think that will work?” he asks, to which Lem smiles - bright as his piss-coloured coat - and says, “Won’t know unless we try, ain’t it?”

They set to work.

—

“For the sake of your conscience, I truly hope this works.” Anguy tells Lem honestly, downing the last of his glass empty until his throat burns with it. Lem barely acknowledges his encouragement; shit-faced on the wooden counter, one hand clutching his glass in a vice-grip, the other palming the back of his undoubtedly pounding head.

“I mean, it’s bad enough if Ned finally manages to kill Gendry,” he continues, waving his hands about to emphasise his point. “Imagine how you’ll feel when Ned kills himself out of guilt, or something.”

A moment later, there is a sound of an object crashing against the wall. Fabric being torn apart, bodies dropping hard against the floor - and oh god, Gendry’s life has met its end, Ned has managed to kill Gendry with his bare hands (their swords plus Gendry’s helmet were taken into a storage for safety purposes) - and Likely Luke is rushing toward their room -

- only to stop when a loud pleasured moan resounds from bedroom.

They wait.

And wait.

“Fuck,” someone says - Gendry, Anguy thinks - and there’s a mewl, and another object falling to the ground, and groans and skin slapping against skin -

Anguy turns to Lem. “You have the best ideas,” he tells the man, and follows the others out of the inn.

—

Ned has more than ten red biting marks scattered around his neck. Gendry has a black eye and healing bleeding nose and permanent bed-hair.
Lem doesn’t look at them straight in the eye for weeks.

[…]

“Just so,” said the kindly man. “And the third thing?”

This time she did not hesitate. “Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night’s Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots.”

“Good boots are hard to find.”

“Just so.” She tried to keep her face still.

“Who could have done this thing, I wonder?”

“Arya of House Stark.”

[A Feast for Crows, Cat of the Canals]

Do you guys understand how deep the meaning of this scene is? This is a proof of Arya’s loyalty to her father, to her family. It is the duty of a Stark to punish the deserters of The Night’s Watch, and even though she might get punished from killing Dareon because she is supposed to be no one; a dirty little girl of Braavos, covering information from the streets; she took her mask off and revealed herself to be Arya of House Stark to do her father’s work.

i’m following blogs with:

- les miserables

- asoiaf/game of thrones

- vikings

- nbc hannibal

- spartacus

- any george blagden related <3

- the avengers

- jason/tim dcu :)

so yeah, reblog away.

“Yeah well, you’d still look prettier than any of us even if you shave your head off.” Gendry says. “Little lordling like you, they’d find you in a heartbeat, mud-caked or not.”

Ned makes a face at Gendry’s back. Beardless Dick smiles beneath his thick black hair, and Lem laughs around the rim of his ale.

“Coming from you, who has‘the brightest blue eyes’ and ‘the perfect lips’?” Ned counters, mimicking the whores from the brothel they’ve passed. “I don’t think you have a say in that.”

The corner of Gendry’s lips twists at the memory. Anguy cuts in before the boys can start another fight.

“Shut your trap,” Anguy snaps. “If you don’t shut up, I’d drive you two back to the brothel m’self. Worth a couple hundred silvers, pretty lads like you.”

Lem falls off his horse from laughing. “Gods,” says Lem between laughter. “No, think about how much dragons we can have from showing them off while fucking, aye?”

Both Gendry and Ned look horrified at the prospect. They don’t talk about it again until they reach the Crossroad Inn.

stannis simply wants justice and prosperity and do his duty as the next in line to be a king. he doesn’t want power, he doesn’t want the throne, he wants to be a king because he is robert’s brother and as such, has to step up as the new king once he died. if joffrey is a baratheon, truly robert’s son, then he would have never wanted to be a king, and would have stayed at dragonstone with his wife and child and davos.

he does not want power.

robb doesn’t want to be king of the seven kingdoms; he wants justice, and he wants to go home, with his sisters and brothers and his mother. he doesn’t want his father to die and marked traitor, he doesn’t want to be oppressed by the throne because he is the son of a traitor. he wants to make the north as a free kingdom once again because he doesn’t want to be tied to the throne who murdered his father and practically half the starks and he doesn’t want his people - the people of the north - to suffer from the lannister’s power-hungry schemes.

he does not want power.

dany doesn’t even want to be a queen - viserys did. dany just wants to go home and reclaims what rightfully hers. if viserys was alive, she would have given the throne to him, but since he’s not, it’s her duty as his sister to be a queen. she also just really wants to go home.

she does not want power.

the greyjoys and the lannisters want power, and they have basically killed everyone who stands in their way. they do want power, they do want the throne, and they will do anything to keep the power they hold now.

i hope everyone understands this, because suddenly the show is all about power and who is the strongest when in the book it’s much more than that.

“Gendry has Robert’s strength, Stannis’ stubbornness, Renly’s easy laugh. And though he doesn’t carry the name. He is a true Baratheon by blood.” —

aryasnark:

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken.”

a daenerys graphic requested by behindmylove

^{Ever since the moment Loras laid his eyes on Margaery, he was a little bit in love already.}

^{His sister is so beautiful, with hints of dark chocolate marring about her head, her face an adorable shape of heart with bright hazelnut intelligent eyes staring lovingly at Loras’ own. Short stubby fingers reaching for his curls, head cocking to the side almost like asking for permission, and Loras let her because he was mad, because he was a boy in love already, and Margery is so very lovely.}

^{Loras is not ashamed to admit that he was close to tears when Margaery’s first words were ‘Lo’as’ instead of ‘mama’ or ‘ollenna’ – which she learned to properly pronounce on her first name day.}

^{They have been an inseparable pair since they were young. Loras and Margaery attending the feast, Margaery and Loras playing knights. Both of them are too often together that their names are spoken in one breath; that they are thought of one deal package, where one cannot get Loras without having Margaery alone.}

^{Once, Ollenna caught him sneaking into Margaery’s bed. Instead of kicking Loras out and locking him in his room, which was located at the other side of the place, their grandmother had smiled and tucked them in. “You are stronger together,” Ollenna had said. “There is no one you can trust other than blood.” And when Loras pulled Margaery closer into his arms, Ollenna smiled again and petted his hair. “Good boy.”}