Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.” Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?"
credits: x/x

Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”
Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”
"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?"

credits: x/x

Ladies of great houses: Stark, Greyjoy and Tyrell

“Who are you?” he would ask her every day.

No one,” she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal… but not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone… but that was not the answer that he wanted.

"Who would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow?"
Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

"What if the wolves come?"

"Yield."


I’d sooner be a wolf. Then I could live in the wood and sleep when I wanted, and I could find Arya and Sansa. I’d smell where they were and go save them, and when Robb went to battle I’d fight besight him like Grey Wind. I’d tear out the Kingslayer’s throat with my teeth, rip, and then the war would be over and everyone would come back to Winterfell. If I was a wolf … 
He howled. Ooo-ooo-ooooooooooo.

I’d sooner be a wolf. Then I could live in the wood and sleep when I wanted, and I could find Arya and Sansa. I’d smell where they were and go save them, and when Robb went to battle I’d fight besight him like Grey Wind. I’d tear out the Kingslayer’s throat with my teeth, rip, and then the war would be over and everyone would come back to Winterfell. If I was a wolf … 

He howled. Ooo-ooo-ooooooooooo.

Eddard Stark lifted his head and looked long at the weirwood, frowning, but he did not speak. He cannot see me, Bran realized, despairing. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but all that he could do was watch and listen. I am in the tree. I am inside the heart tree, looking out of its red eyes, but the weirwood cannot talk, so I can’t. Eddard Stark resumed his prayer. Bran felt his eyes fill up with tears. But were they his own tears, or the weirwood’s? If I cry, will the tree begin to weep?

Sansa Stark + Daniel In The Den (Bastille) for Femke

When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.

I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave.

© meanwolfs